Knight Errant
by Wally In Aeternum
Summary: Certain bodily functions unique to the fairer sex fail to enter into V's calculations when shopping for his houseguest. Evey is understandably peeved.
1. An Unpleasant Finding

Disclaimer: The characters of V and Evey are the property of Alan Moore and any other people who have thus far managed to get their grubby paws legally onto them. However,I occasionally abduct them, heavily sedate them, and make them dance to my tune.

Dance, puppets, dance!

Author's Note: This is movieverse. Although I dearly love the graphic novel, the movie provided a better premise for a humour fic. Also, please bear with the occasional irregular spacing - this is NOT my fault, and it is driving me up the bloody wall. I edit, dammit!

**Knight Errant**

She couldn't believe it.

_I mean, _she thought savagely, _it's not like the past week hasn't been aggravating enough._ _The Party wants my head, I'm being held prisoner by a masked, bewigged terrorist, and I'm going stir-crazy in his Batcave._

To say _nothing_ of the man himself...

Talk about aggravation. V was a master of the art of frustrating and fascinating, intriguing and infuriating by turns, and Evey had borne the brunt of this for upwards of eight days.

Up to this particular point, he had been surprisingly thorough in providing her with the necessities and amenities essential to any woman's household comfort.

His knowledge in this field juxtaposed with his apparent gender was, quite frankly, bizarre. Soaps, creams and razor; housecoat, pajamas and hairbrush - even a straightening iron had mysteriously appeared on the bathroom counter. (Was V's wig unruly in the morning?)

But the last hour's increasingly desperate forays had yielded only one possible conclusion, and now she had discovered the fatal omission:

There was not a single tampon to be had in the entirety of the Shadow Gallery.

Having thoroughly ransacked V's bathroom, Evey sat amidst the scattered contents of the medicine cabinet and fumed quietly.

_You idiot, _she thought scathingly. _Why are you surprised that he doesn't stock up on feminine products? He's a... a _man,_ for Chrissakes!_

The admission shocked her a little. Until now it had been hard to believe that beneath that smiling mustachioed façade lay a man, and a bachelor at that. In this respect at least, V was no different from any other man she had ever laughed over with a female colleague.

Evey ground her teeth. _Why did he have to turn out to be human_ now?

When V returned to the Shadow Gallery, carrying packages wrapped in oil cloth and trailing mud from his cloak and boots, Evey pounced on him at the door.

"V, you've _got _to let me go aboveground."

The masked man doffed his dripping hat and dropped his parcels, his voice mildly remonstrating. "Evey, I really did think we had come to some sort of understanding on the subject. I'm afraid the answer isn't going to change. In any case, it's miserable out there. Take my word for it; you're far better off down here with a book and something hot to drink."

"No. No, I'm _not_."

In the midst of removing his sodden cloak, V took in her strained expression. Guy Fawkes' face tilted towards Evey with quizzical concern.

"Evey? Are you feeling all right? You're not ill, are you?"

She was turning red now. Alarmed, V looked like he was about to dash off to find a thermometer when she blurted, "V, I just need to buy some supplies. Just - just... things..."

He looked down at her. There was mixed exasperation and amusement in his voice. "Evey, should you ever want for anything short of the Midas touch, I assure you that I will do my best to procure it. Now, what would you like?"

She gave a little groan and covered her face.

"Evey...?"

"DAMMIT, V - I NEED SOME TAMPONS!"

Red as a beet, the girl stared through her fingers as the terrorist froze and dithered internally for a good thirty seconds - yes; V dithered, although he did an admirable job of masking his panic - before bravely jamming his hat back on and bowing low.

"Please forgive this grievous oversight, mademoiselle. I shall remedy it this very instant."

And he swept heroically out the door.

For a long time Evey remained rooted to the spot, red-hot mortification coursing through her, until realization struck her that her request had been singularly vague from any woman's point of view. She hadn't specified the size, the brand...

Her jaw dropped at the mental image of V standing in an aisle, knives at the ready, defenseless in the face of the mind-staggering variety of feminine hygiene products.

Evey wasn't sure whether to feel sorry for him, or to laugh until she cried.

To be continued...

God, the suspense!

Author's Note: In case you guys have noticed, I am NOT British. And as I'm sure most of you know, V and Evey ARE British. So if any of you Brits out there - or evenany really savvy non-Brits - notice any irregularities in the vocab, drop me a line. Please. Be as nasty as you like about it.


	2. They've Got Bombs

Dude -an update!

...and they ate their minstrels, and there was much rejoicing!

Author's Note: I don't have anything against Russians. I really don't. You see, I just saw an old movie called "The Russians Are Coming!", which was about a Cold War-Era American town getting totally freaked out over some Russians who just wanted to fix their submarine and get the hell home. It was sort of funny. I really wanted to have someone say, "The Russians are in aisle seven!" in my fic. I figure in the world of V for Vendetta, Russian-phobia isn't all that improbable. The Russians are always getting a bad rap.

While we're on the topic of old movies, I also recommend 'Bridge on the River Kwai'.

---

Chapter the Second

---

Long ago in the days of primeval man, when the first cavewoman had yelled the Stone Age equivalent of "Bollocks, I'm bleeding from my nether regions! Go get me some extra-absorbent moss!" some animal instinct had the first caveman hitting the ground running.

It was with this deeply ingrained instinct singing in his veins that V beat a hasty retreat to the roof, the face under Guy's cheery grin burning. _Well, that _would_ explain why Evey's been so out of sorts lately. _

The truth was that he was thoroughly embarrassed for the both of them. He mentally gave himself a hefty kick in the kidneys for making such an elementary mistake. Now, to remedy the situation. The city lay below him, ripe for the pilfering...

The problem was that V hadn't the slightest idea of where the government kept their emergency stockpile of feminine hygiene products.

It just hadn't been much of an issue before now.

---

In a chemist shop in South London, a teller named Doris lit a cigarette and checked the convex mirror in the corner of the store. Yep. Still there.

The man had been lurking in the aisles for ages. Funny-looking bloke - all in black, with big dark glasses and a prickly-looking beard. _He looks like a poorly-disguised secret agent_, Doris thought idly.

Whatever the case, he was the most interesting thing that had happened all day. All of London seemed to be staying in today, glued to the telescreens and the latest news on the Leningrad Situation, or whatever the hell they were calling it.

The bearded man finally made his way over to the counter. Up close, his face seemed even more like a bad latex job under the shadow of his hat. He appeared to hesitate for a second, and then asked in a rumbling Slavic accent: "Where is the feminine product aisle, please?"

Doris' jaw slackened a little. She directed to the seventh aisle, and he shuffled off in that direction with a mumbled "Ta." She looked at the newspaper headlines on the counter with beady eyes, then back at the bearded man. Try and pass for an Englishman, why didn't he! She saw right through him!

...What the hell was a Russian doing in the time-of-month aisle?

She scurried into the back room behind the counter, where the frowsy assistant teller was smoking and watching a small telescreen.

"Hey Doris," the assistant said without looking up. "You hear the latest? They say Russia's got bombs. They say -"

Doris hit the power button with a long red fingernail.

"Hey!"

"Don't look now, Matilda, but the Russians are in aisle seven!"

---

In the course of his unusual work, V had had cause to acquire certain skills. He could assemble seven kinds of improvised explosives with the contents of a single refrigerator. He could dismantle all the firearms in the government's arsenal one-handed and blindfolded, not to mention the illegal makes. He could operate most heavy machinery given ten minutes and some experimentation in the driver's seat; fly a plane (commercial and private); and drive a lorry through rush hour traffic while in the wrong lane.

However, the Women's Health aisle was a different kind of animal altogether.

V was beginning to panic. The latex mask and false beard were both irritating and hard to breathe through, and he was also getting some decidedly odd looks from the teller at the front of the store. Whether it was because of his hurriedly fabricated disguise or the phenomenon of a male of the species in the aforementioned aisle, he couldn't tell.

_I can understand the necessity of colour-coded electrical equipment, _he thought wildly as he surveyed the shelves before him. _But feminine products...?_

Sprays, powders, sanitary towels, wipes, menstrual cups - _menstrual cups?_ What could a woman possibly need all these..._things_... for?

"I need some tampons," she'd said. What _kind _of tampons? All-cotton or the cotton-rayon blend? Organic or non-organic? With or without applicators? What was an applicator, and why were they optional?

Napkins. What about napkins? Should he get the sanitary napkins for safety's sake? And if so, would it be ultra-thin? Maxis? Flexi-wings? Overnights?

Male sensibility was screaming at him to him to grab a box, any box, and run with the goods. But V was now a man with a Mission. He'd made a mistake, and damned if he wasn't going to present Evey with the finest that Proctor and Gamble could offer.

He was going to need assistance in this matter.

He glanced back up at the counter. He was starting to attract stray glances from other customers; this wasn't good. His disguise wouldn't stand up to close scrutiny. Also, he was uncomfortably aware that his beard was coming unglued.

Another teller had joined the first at the counter. The older one was casting furtive glances in his direction and drumming long, artificial nails on the countertop. They were whispering. About him. And V had very good hearing.

"...KGB...like in a film...rendezvous in aisle seven..."

"...telescreen...Leningrad Situation... _bombs_..."

The Russian accent had obviously been a bad idea.

V began to walk briskly for the exit. He would try a different chemist, one where the tellers weren't so curious about clientele. As he did so, he brushed against a couple walking in. The girl immediately turned to her boyfriend.

"That guy just felt me up!"

_I beg your pardon?_

"Oy! You! Get back here!"

V felt himself hauled backwards and brought face to face with a young man who looked like he ate small mammals for breakfast.

_I don't have time for this nonsense. _Aloud he said stiffly, "I assure you I did no such thing."

"Bollocks. I felt his hard-on on my leg!"

_This is downright insulting._

"Look, you creepy faggot -"

"Ohmygawd! Dylan, his _face_ is coming off!"

No doubt a reference to the fact that the adhesive on his false beard had finally released its tenuous grasp on its native slope and was dangling from one ear.

V groaned internally. It seemed that he was doomed to make the eleven o'clock news no matter what he did.

Before the couple's eyes the man in black produced a throwing knife, which he held out for the girl's dumbfounded inspection.

"I believe _this_ is what you felt, miss."

He flipped it expertly to the other hand and retrieved a second knife, and in the same breath levelled both of them at the staring youths. "Now, if you and your young man could please go and stand behind the counter, we could avoid further confusion. Once there, you may assume whatever position you think appropriate to the situation." He paused and awaited compliance. "Thank you."

Above, the store's ancient intercom suddenly crackled to life. _"The Russians are here! He's got a knife! Run for your lives!"_

V turned to the teller. She was holding the microphone and pointing a crimson finger at him. "Stay back, Rusky! There's a gun somewhere under this counter, and I'm not afraid to use it!"

"My dear lady, I am quite English. In fact, I am probably the most patriotic individual in the room. Put that microphone down. I'm sure you recognize me from the news of late..."

"I've never seen you before in my life!"

V sighed, turned his back, and made a few unseen costume adjustments before straightening with a frozen smile and harlequin cheeks.

"Oh," said the teller, the mike dangling uselessly. "The terrorist. Wotsisname. Codename V, right?"

_The public is becoming jaded, _V observed."None other. Now-" he looked at her name tag. "-Doris. Kindly do as the young people have sensibly done and put your hands on your head. I'm sure you've seen it done in films."

At that moment the assistant teller dashed out of the back room carrying an antiquated handgun. Doris waved a red-nailed hand at her. "Nah, s'alright. He's not a Russian. He's the terrorist on the telly."

"Oh," the assistant teller said uncertainly. "What's he want to terrorize a chemist's for?"

"I dunno. I expect he wants to take us all hostage."

_Not the reaction I was expecting, _V thought, mentally rolling up his sleeves. _But I can work with it._

_The things I do for you, Evey..._

---

More to come!


	3. Feminine Products 101

Author's Note: I'm going on vacation tomorrow, so I guess I'll just give you the rest today. Thanks for the love, people!

"It started off as a one-shot... AND THEN IT ATE MY BRAIN!"

Here it is: the spellbinding conclusion to the epic chain of events which have led our fearless paladin to the very darkest depths of humanity!

OK, so much for pathos.

---

Chapter the Third

---

To the casual passersby, the only indication of the drama occurring within the chemist shop was the abrupt appearance of a CLOSED sign in the window. Following this, the lights also went out. The store was apparently deserted.

In reality, however, six people had been herded into the restroom and locked inside, with the exception of Doris the teller and the young lady V had accidentally "felt up". He was admittedly still feeling a bit soretowards the latter, but she looked about Evey's age, and so might serve as a basis of comparison.

The two hostages had been marched into the Women's Health aisle at knifepoint, and were now staring at V with seven kinds of incredulity.

"You're fucking joking," said the girl, bristling with indignance.

"I couldn't be more serious, miss."

"What are you, some kind of she-male?"

V fingered his knives in irritation. "Look, it's very simple: just choose whichever items you would buy for yourself."

"I _thought _there was something weird about you -"

"Waitaminnit," said Doris. "That girl - I saw her on the telly, Edie-something. This stuff's for _her_, isn't it?"

"How acute of you," croaked V. _My personal life, laid bare by a sales clerk with glue-on nails. _"Yes. Yes, it is. As my friend is currently incapacitated at the moment, I am acquiring the necessaries."

"Oh my gawd," said the girl. She was now looking V up and down with new respect. "Dylan doesn't ever buy _me_ stuff like that. That's _chivalry_."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," said V lightly. "Now that we've come to an understanding, would you be so kind as to assist...?"

"Yeah, okay," said the girl. "Does she do tampons or pads or what?"

"Take both,"opined Doris sagely. "It isn't healthy to use tampons all the time. Toxic Shock, you know."

_No, I don't. But I'm not going to ask._

"Oh, c'mon, _no one _gets TSS. I once had one in for two days straight and I never-"

"Right," interrupted V hastily. "Both it is."

For reasons he could not even begin to fathom, V saw that he now had both women on his side. He toned the menace down a notch and sheathed his knives with a sigh of relief.

Doris was already rummaging through the shelves. The teller, assured that V was in no way connected to the KGB, had latched onto the idea that she was in the company of a celebrity of sorts. In fact, she seemed to be enjoying herself.

"Applicator, right?"

"Pardon?"

"Applicator or no applicator?"

"Non-applicators are for hippies,"advisedthe girl.

"The difference being...?" V asked thickly, feeling very stupid indeed.

Following an opened package and cursory explanation of the device's mechanics, V opted in favour of the applicators, but proved indecisive when asked, "Which colour does she take?"

"Er-"

"There's junior, regular, super, super plus, ultra..."

"Come again?"

"Does she have a heavy flow?" asked the girl helpfully.

"_What?_" asked V, appalled.

"Is she a virgin?"

_"WHAT__?"_

"Don't get your panties in a knot," the girl muttered. "They say virgins like the smaller sizes. Never mind. Regular it is."

---

Several packages of yellow- and purple-coded tampons and three boxes of Overnight sanitary napkins later, V had a headache.

His past experiences in hostage situations usually involved a lot more screaming, yelling, and a generalized sense of all-around hostility. By the sound of the muffled abuses being yelled from the menfolk in the bathroom, this appeared to be what was going on in that vicinity.

The two women, however, had risen to the occasion with an unnerving enthusiasm. Having recently reconciled their differences in feminine hygiene preference, theywere currently advising him on the appropriate measures to take when sharing a home with a menstruating female.

"-and bananas," concluded Doris. "Have plenty of bananas."

"-and chocolate."

"-and chocolate,"the teller agreed."And Tylenol for tummy aches."

They both smiled at V.

"Well, ladies, this has been very helpful," he began, but at that moment sirens began to wail from down the street. The captives in the bathroom began to cheer.

"Oh. Sorry," said the girl, frowning. "I forgot -I think Dylan phoned the police. You didn't take his cell phone away - he hid it in his pants -"

"Is there a back door?" V asked Doris distractedly, eying the windows.

"-he probably thinks you're, like, raping us or something. I mean, I totally forgive you for the whole knife thing and all-"

"Ladies, please try to remember that I am the villain in this drama," V said, hurriedly shouldering the packages. "If anyone asks, this was a forced robbery. At gunpoint. Anything you like. I would hate for you to be black-bagged after your kind assistance."

"We'll lock ourselves in the supply room," said Doris cheerfully. "It was nice meeting you, dear. Say hello to your young lady for me. '_Vive le revolution'_ and all that!"

The masked man fled, feminine products and all.

"He seems like a nice man," said Doris. "It's a pity that he's a terrorist."

"Yeah. Dylan wouldn't ever take anyone hostage to buy _me _tampons."

---

V picked up speed as he ran through the side streets,juggling his cumbersome spoils as he ran. From the sound of things, the entire Nose division had turned out to run their quarry to the ground.

_This is beyond chivalry, _he thought hopelessly. _This is beyond the labours of Hercules, for God's sake!_

He needed to get to a roof. The city was easier to comprehend when it lay at his feet.

...it was also easier to comprehend without peering around a package of tampons. But damned if he was going to leave _them _behind.

He turned into an alleyway and had one foot on a wrought iron fire escape when -

"Not so fast, mask boy."

Behind V, something clicked in an oiled-metal, mechanical sort of way. He turned to find an officer with the Fingermen's double-barred cross insignia on his sleeve.

The man grinned. "You're not giving us the slip this time, chum. Put the boxes down and put your hands up. We're gonna see what's behind that smiley face."

"Young man, I don't have all night," V growled irritably. "I have a lady waiting. _'Hell hath no fury'_, as I'm sure you are aware."

"Don't try and by cute," the officer snarled. "Any funny moves and I shoot your legs out from under you."

Despite himself, V was becoming quite angry. At any other time he might have been amused by the officer's clichéd machismo; tonight, on top of the evening's previous irritants, this musclehead was just another straw on the camel's back.

Unluckily for that particular officer, it was the straw that broke it.

"Funny moves?" echoed V quietly, dangerously. He stepped down from the fire escape slowly. "I assure you, young man..."

"_-Listen, you spooky bastard-"_

"..That what I'm about to do to you..."

"_-Come one step nearer and I'm gonna blow you away-!"_

"...With this..." V glanced at his weapon of choice. "...ah, vaginal harpoon..."

"_-I'M WARNING YOU-!"_

"...Will be anything but 'funny'."

They would find the officer the following morning, bound to the fire escape with several Always® Maxi pads and gagged with a dozen junior-absorbency tampons.

---

Evey was in the shower when V returned, so he left the packages outside the door. Then he locked himself into a storage room and spent the next few hours alternately emptying a bottle of red wine and beating the hell out of a spare suit of armor.

---

In the morning, his houseguest padded into the kitchen in pajamas to find V standing at the table, staring rigidly at a newspaper.

"V...?"

He slammed the paper down at her approach and jumped to his feet, holding it behind his back.

"Evey. Did you sleep well?"

She took a step backwards. "Are you all right? What's that you're reading?"

"What? Nothing. Nothing at all. Yes! Yes, I'm perfectly fine. Never been better. Yourself?"

She gave him an odd look, but continued, "I just wanted to say thank you."

"You're quite welcome Evey," he said with a strained bow.

"The bananas are very nice too," she added, brown eyes looking at him thoughtfully. "And the chocolate. It was very... classy of you. None of the other guys I knew treated me like that."

In spite of himself, V's chest swelled a bit. "It was no trouble at all, my dear."

A small and sarcastic voice in his head replied, _You only held eight people hostage, outran the entire London police force, and incapacitated a Fingerman with feminine products, but it was no trouble at all? .__..You are _whipped_, old man._

_Shut up._

"I'm deeply sorry to have put you through any earlier discomfort. I trust you, ah, managed? In my absence?"

Eveysmiled at him, and V felt the last vestiges of annoyance melt away."Necessity is the mother of invention. Four-ply toilet paper is good for more than just wipingSutler's ass."

"Quite." A pause. "Why don't you go and get dressed? I'll make waffles. How do waffles sound?"

"Fantastic. You know,"Evey called over her shoulder. "I was actually worried that you'd have some trouble with the whole thing, last night. Silly of me, wasn't it?"

When she had gone, he glanced back at the momentarily-forgotten newspaper in his hand and winced anew. It was only a local rag, but the headline - coupled with a blurred but very much authentic photograph - had stopped him dead in his tracks.

**CODENAME 'V' ACTUALLY A WOMAN!**

**An unnamed source reported sighting the terrorist near the Soho district following Codename V's armed robbery of a South London chemist shop in which the only items stolen were several packages of tampons and sanitary napkins! Caught oncandidcameraby our informant, the masked marauder is seen making off with his - or shall we say _her_ - ill-gotten gains!**

**Attack on TV Station: Political or PMS?**

**Could it be that the recent attack on the BTN station was a symptom of Codename V's raging premenstrual hormones? Premenstrual syndrome, or PMS, is the monthly scourge of more than half of the world's women, with symptoms including mood and behavioral changes. To find out more, we got an expert's opinion on the matter...**

_If you only knew, Evey. __If you only knew._

FIN

Liked it? Hated it? Tell me what you thought, what you liked, what I should do better next time -you folks know the drill. It really means a lot to me to hear your voices out there!


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